Kitchen Fire
by cutekittenlady
Summary: A midnight emergency causes Acxa some embarrassment.


Acxa wasn't sure what she expected to find. Something dramatic? After all, getting a sudden and frantic series of text messages in the middle of the night from her wealthy charge would have been enough to send any would be bodyguard into action.

It felt especially true in her case given that Lotor, the wealthy young socialite to whom she owed her services, had the unfortunate tendency to make a lot of enemies. Like, _a lot_ of enemies. Acxa had never worked for anyone who had managed to make as many enemies as Lotor had.

His enemies ranged from business rivals, to political figures, to people whose grudges were of the purely personal variety. A good few of them were actually old enemies of Lotor's father; a terrifying, influential man, to whom the concept of consequences was a vague annoyance rather than a danger. Either way, there were a lot of people who had Lotor in their sights.

Interestingly, most of the attempts on Lotor's person that Acxa and her group had thwarted were kidnappings rather than assassinations. To most interested parties, he was worth more alive than dead. There was the potential ransom money, the fact that he made a valuable hostage against his father, and the invariable fact that Lotor's mind was filled to the brim with numerous unique ideas and secrets.

So when she'd rushed from her small apartment in the midst of changing her clothes to Lotor's loft, (breaking open the door as she went) she'd half expected to find numerous armed thugs or otherwise some smug knowing artisticratic figure sitting in the darkened corner.

What she _hadn't_ expected was a smoke filled kitchen, a slowly growing oven fire, and a very visibly distressed Lotor clearly trying to figure out how the fire extinguisher worked.

Instincts drove Acxa into action as she crossed the room, snatched the fire extinguisher from Lotor's hands, and extinguished the flames. Then, leaving a stunned Lotor staring, she shut off the fire alarm.

A long, rather strained, silence followed Acxa's return to the kitchen.

Lotor had remained standing, fixed to the spot that he'd been in when she'd first arrived, staring rather like a confused child at the charred oven.

Finally, Acxa's brain processed the series of events and managed to form a question. "What were you doing?"

Lotor blinked at her, glanced at the stove, then back. "I was trying, or at least attempting, to make a cake."

"A cake."

The statement left her mouth without a hint of any kind of emotion, sarcasm, or irony.

"Yes," Lotor sighed rather disappointedly. "I rather thought it was like chemistry. Elements and what not. However… something went wrong."

"You don't say." Acxa said stiffly, her sense of sarcasm slowly returning.

"I believe it was the temperture?" He suggested aloud.

"Very likely."

"When it started popping, I decided I should probably call for… aid… of some kind."

"So you contacted… me?"

"I…" Lotor stopped, some color coming to the tips of his ears. "I could not think of anyone else."

Acxa sighed. She suddenly felt very tired.

"Uhm," Lotor stopped and looked away from her. "Acxa?"

"Yes, sir?" she asked, trying not to sound irritable. "What is it?"

His eyes avoided her person as the tips of his ears grew even redder than before.

"I understand that I must have… interrupted you… and of course we DO live in the same buliding, and given that its so late it is hardly to be noticed but…"

He stopped, his ears turning a dark shade of crimson.

Acxa looked at him in confusion before her eyes glanced downward.

… And she saw that she was only wearing a half unbuttoned shirt and her underwear.

Jaw clenched, her face turned red.

"I'm going back to bed." She said stiffly, trying to drown her embarrassment.

"Do you… I-I have coats in the closet if you-"

"I will take one." Acxa turned around and headed for the door. "Good night, Lotor."

Lotor stood in the kitchen and listened to the sound of the closet door being torn open, the clatter of a coat hangar falling to the ground, and the slam of the apartment door.

He took a seat at the kitchen table and rested his head on the knuckles of his hand.

 _One of these days,_ he thought to himself with some feeling of mirth, _she is going to kill me._


End file.
